


it's here that i must be

by angelsaves



Series: the masochism tango [2]
Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: ADHD Roman Roy, Cock & Ball Torture, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mild Pet Play, Podfic Welcome, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 10:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: Roman doesn't want to go home. Somehow, he finds himself kneeling on Gerri's floor instead.





	it's here that i must be

Roman doesn't want to go home, is the thing. He stayed at the Waystar Royco offices as long as he could before going to meet Eduard, and then it turned out that Eduard did find him seductive, or at least enough so to shove Roman to his knees in the bathroom of the bar. It's not the first time or the worst reason that he's done a little of the ol' cocksucking -- he went to fucking boarding school, of course it's not -- but he's restless, and not just because he didn't get off.

Maybe he should have taken Eduard up on his offer of a bump of coke. Roman feels like he could use a little of that ethereal calm -- not, he's learned, what most people get out of nose candy, but since when has he ever been normal?

Instead, he finds himself telling the Uber driver to take him to Gerri's, or at least the last address he remembers for her. He hopes she hasn't fucking moved. It'd serve him right.

It's raining, but the driver doesn't wait to see if Roman makes it past the doorman. "Roman Roy," he says, leaning on the little podium-thing. "Here to see Gerri Kellman."

"Ms. Kellman's not home," the doorman says, in a conspiratorial sort of tone. "I could let you in to wait, though, if you wanted."

"Do that." Roman fishes in his pockets for cash to tip him, because Gerri would, and comes up with a handful of other people's business cards, hard candy from various restaurants, and flavored condoms. Great. He shoves the whole mess into the guy's hands and claps him on the back. "Thanks, man."

"I, uh -- yeah," the doorman says to Roman's back. Roman ignores him, shoving through the door to the lobby. He takes the stairs, because the idea of standing still in the elevator makes him want to fucking die, up to the fourth floor.

Once he gets there, though, he's not sure what to do, so he sits on the floor, stretching his legs out in a V, and fucks around on his phone. There's probably something happening on Facebook, right? Or he can update his Bitmoji, see how dumb he can make it look.

That's how Gerri finds him, choosing exactly the right color for his little avatar's hair. He blames her sneakers for her silent approach; she must have been at yoga class. "Fancy meeting you here," Roman says, scrambling to his feet.

Gerri raises her eyebrows at him. "Roman," she says. "Would you like to come in?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Roman leans casually (he hopes) against the door frame while Gerri, resplendent in her black and purple workout gear, unlocks the door.

"You go first," Gerri says, and he doesn't even try for chivalry, just makes a beeline for her liquor cabinet and pours himself a finger or two of whiskey that's older than he is. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," Roman says hoarsely. He sets the glass down and drops to his knees. "Still, uh. Still mulling things over?"

Gerri shakes her head, but she's got a little smile curving her lips. "Roman," she says. "You disgusting little pervert."

"Yeah," Roman says again, letting his eyes fall closed. "That's me."

Her hand in his hair startles him, and he jumps. Gerri laughs softly. "What do you want, Roman?"

_You,_ he wants to say. _Whatever you'll give me. Whatever you'll take from me._ He chokes on it, a sad little sound.

"Oh, slime puppy." Gerri sighs. "What am I going to do with you?" She strokes his hair again.

It's awful porn dialogue, but what comes out of Roman's mouth is: "Use me. Hurt me."

"Hmm." When he opens his eyes, Gerri is looking down at him. "I can do that." 

She turns and walks away, into what he assumes is her bedroom, and for a moment, all he can think about is the old saw about the sadist and the masochist, how the cruelest thing she could do is nothing at all -- but Gerri comes back, dressed in a blue silk robe and shearling slippers, with a bottle of lube in one hand. He tries not to show his relief.

Gerri sees it anyway. Her lips quirk. "Thought I'd just leave you here?" she says. "No." She steps closer, one slippered foot between his knees. "How about this: I step on your dick, and you finger me, and we see who comes first?"

Roman gulps. "Yeah, I could -- that sounds -- yeah."

There's a gleam in Gerri's eye when he reaches up to take the lube. "Good." She pulls over one of the high-backed wooden chairs from the dining table and sits down, knees spread, that one foot tantalizingly close to his dick. 

"How do we start?" Roman asks, mouth dry.

"First, you open the bottle," Gerri says, and okay, he can do that. It pops open with a snap, and he pours it all over his hand, wiggling his eyebrows at Gerri as he does.

She purses her lips like she's trying not to smile, and the toe of her slipper finds the head of his dick. It's just a little bit of pressure, but _fuck_, it feels like a promise. He gasps, bites his lip, and puts down the lube.

Gerri doesn't do or say anything for a moment, but he can feel her breath on the top of his head, slow and even. When he looks up, she takes a deeper breath and parts the gleaming panels of her robe. He rocks back on his heels; he's seen plenty of cunts before, but, goddammit, they haven't belonged to _her_.

"Do you need more instructions?" Gerri asks, easing off the pressure of her foot.

"No, no, I'm good." Roman rests his clean hand on her inner thigh and parts her with the lubed-up one, sliding his thumb over her clit. She lets out a long, slow breath and steps down a little harder, like a fucked-up reward.

"There you go," Gerri says, "I knew you had it in you," when he pushes a finger inside her. That gives him the necessary _oomph_ to add another one, and oh, fuck, she shifts her weight forward into his hand and onto his dick at the same time.

"Nnngh!" He squeezes his eyes shut at the rush of, what did the hot personal trainer call them? Endorphins?

"Do you need a break?" Gerri asks, in that poisoned-cake voice she has, sweet enough that you might not notice it could kill you.

Roman notices. "Nope." He gets his hand to a better angle, letting her ride the heel of it, and Gerri tilts her chin up just a little -- not exactly throwing her head back in ecstasy, but, he thinks, not too far away from it, either.

God, she's almost crushing his poor little dick now, and it feels fucking -- good, right, perfect, but he's _not_ going to come first. He crooks his fingers, trying to find her G-spot, and Gerri's hand clenches in his hair, yanking, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"Just like that," she says, "and don't fucking stop."

He doesn't. He fingerblasts her exactly how she wants him to fingerblast her, while the rubber sole of her slipper presses wavy lines into his dick, and when she comes, she actually does throw her head back for a moment.

"Your turn." Gerri's voice is just barely huskier than normal, and she takes her foot off his dick, and Roman comes so hard he sees stars. 

Back on Earth, he realizes his cheek is resting on Gerri's knee. He jerks up like the silk is made of scorpions.

"I'd ask you to stay again," Gerri says, "but that reaction makes me think --"

"I will," Roman blurts out. "I mean, I would. If you asked."

"I'm asking." She looks at him.

Roman's just been wrist-deep in her cunt, but this might be the most vulnerability she's ever shown him. "Yeah," he says. "I'm saying -- yeah. Yes."

Gerri gives him a towel and a spare pair of sweatpants (her own? her late husband's? someone else's? Roman doesn't ask) and lets him clean up, then ushers him into her bedroom. There's a dog bed at the foot of the four-poster. "I didn't know you --" Roman starts to say, and then his brain catches up with his mouth, and he quick-changes _had a dog_ to "-- cared."

"Roman," she says. "Lie down."

He curls up in the dog bed. It's way fucking comfier than the crate Ken used to put him in.

Gerri sits on the edge of her people bed, leans down, and ruffles his hair. "Good boy," she says, and he falls asleep with praise echoing in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm absolutely convinced that roman has ADHD, and i think part of the reason he doesn't use cocaine (that we've seen, that i can remember) is because he has the associated paradoxical reaction to it, so it isn't fun


End file.
